


Scenes from the Napoleonic Wars

by Silverfox



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-22 19:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17065844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverfox/pseuds/Silverfox
Summary: These are based on real historical events - most taken from the Autobiography of Harry Smith - and written for various challenges of the LTSH RPG-group. They are in chronological order, but due to them being challenge responses there are gaps where so far no challenge has fit the scene.





	1. No Orders

"I take it General Skerret's orders aren't urgent?" Lieutenant-Colonel Colborne asked when Brigade Major Harry Smith jumped off his horse without immediately shouting out his missive.

Harry gave him an uncharacteristically glum look. "No orders," he admitted once he'd handed over his reigns to Colborne's servant. "He didn't send me."

Colborne glanced in the direction of the bridge near Vera, but he couldn't see it from here. "No orders? We are supposed to bivouac?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed miserably. "Everybody can see that the French on this side of the Bidassoa must re-cross the river during the night or be slaughtered in the morning. Our brigade is in control of the bridge that is the only place they can cross after today's rain and our brigadier wants you to go to bed."

"He means to defend the bridge with the 95th regiment alone?" Colborne didn't think that was wise, but the sharpshooters with their rifles were better suited for the task than the 52nd whose musket's had a much shorter range. Still, considering the number of cut off French it would be wise to keep the rest of the brigade on alert nearby in case the 95th were overrun.

Harry laughed bitterly. "He means to defend the bridge with a picket of one officer and thirty men."

"Nonsense," said Colborne. "That would make no sense. Where did you hear that rumour?"

"That rumour are the orders I carried to the 95th myself," Harry snapped. "I tried to talk Skerret out of it, but he wouldn't see reason. He almost laughed at me outright." A pause. "Well, before he started yelling."

Colborne didn't bother to ask who had started yelling first. He knew Harry too well. "You must have misunderstood," he said instead. "Why don't you go back to the General and ask him again calmly."

"Misunderstood?" Harry tore a rather bedraggled notebook out of his pocket and thrust it at Colborne. "Does this look at all unclear to you?"

Harry Smith of all people actually kept an order book? Colborne accepted it with mild surprise and opened it. The order was scrawled out on the very first page, just as Harry had repeated it. The rest of the pages were pristine except for the wrinkles, dog ears and water damage.

"I showed him this and he confirmed that these are his orders," Harry insisted. "It's Daniel Cadoux's turn for the picket. He chose to take all that's left of his company, but they suffered badly when Skerret held you back too long during the battle today. He says he's down to 50 men1. He cannot hold that many French off forever."

Colborne closed his eyes for a moment, collected himself and calmly handed the order book back to its owner - who would, most likely, never use it again.

"I can order my regiment to sleep fully clothed with their weapons at their sides," he said. "But I cannot move it or enter the fight without orders. You have to get me those."

Harry beamed at him. "I will," he exclaimed already jumping up to rush back to his horse once again happy and full of restless energy.

Colborne shook his head with a slight smile, then sent out the promised orders.

 

 

He spent the night dozing in his chair, Major Mein asleep beside him, until the battle cry of the French woke them just before dawn.

Mein jumped up and dashed off towards the sound before anyone could stop him and Colborne had to send someone after him to fetch him back. No orders came.

 

 

Harry's eyes were red from crying when Colborne saw him again hours later. "Cadoux's dead," he said softly. "And it's all Skerret's fault. They could have held the bridge on their own, if only they'd had more ammunition, but Skerret would send neither support nor ammunition. He ordered them to retreat. Ordered them out of cover just when it got light enough to make them good targets."

"You did all you could," Colborne told him, but of course that didn't fix anything. They would discuss the events of this night many many times in the years that followed.

 

1) Using Harry's numbers. Other sources say 70.


	2. It's a Plan

“Well, we’re rid of him,” declared Captain Harry Smith entering Lieutenant-Colonel Colborne’s tent without bothering to announce himself.

“Good morning, Harry,” greeted Colborne with just a hint of a smile. “Whom are we rid of?”

“The General,” said Harry sitting down on Colborne’s bed uninvited since the Colonel himself was already sitting on his only chair. “Skerret’s going home ... sick, or so he says.”

Colborne closed his book. There was no chance he’d get any more studying done with restless Harry Smith in his tent and it wouldn’t do to kick him out. Besides he rather liked Harry, disrespectful and hot tempered as he was. There was no malice in it and the young brigade mayor was eager and had a good head on his shoulders. He certainly knew better how to run a brigade than Skerret did. Not that that was saying overly much. The General was no great loss.

“If you ask me, it’s an excuse,” Harry continued happily. “I’ve seen as much of him as anyone, being his brigade mayor – even if he wouldn’t see me outside of business – and he seemed perfectly healthy. I bet General Alten’s none too happy with him after the affair at Vera and chances are Wellington’s heard of it, too. Maybe he even told him to pack.”

“Maybe,” Colborne allowed. “But we won’t know. I wouldn’t go spreading gossip about your fellow officers, if I were you.”

“Oh never,” Harry assured him. “He wasn’t a bad fellow anyway. Quite a gallant grenadier, I always thought. He just didn’t understand the first thing about the work of light troops.”

That however was as damning a judgement of a brigadier in the Duke of Wellington’s light division as it was true. Poor, foolish Skerret. He might have done fine, if only he’d admitted his ignorance and been willing to take the advise of the old hands that surrounded him.

“And it certainly didn’t need old Douro himself stepping in,” Harry continued. “It was quite obvious enough that the brigade would no longer obey him. I’ve never seen them this rebellious, not even on the retreat from Burgos when they sent the baggage train down the wrong road and the supplies ran out. They’ve lost all trust in their commander.”

True and perhaps deserved, but the men would not have gotten so completely out of Skerret’s hand, if it hadn’t been for Harry himself. Harry had been known to give his own orders and run off with the brigade before if a brigadier took too long to take action, but he’d never so openly altered orders, nor had it looked good to the soldiers how much Skerret had withdrawn from the other officers when all his predecessors had pretty much shared their quarters with their staff. Harry had been their brigade mayor for years, they knew and trusted him. If only he and Skerret would have assumed an appearance of harmony, it would not have had to come to this, Colborne thought, deliberately ignoring his own complicity in Harry’s actions.

“But whatever the reason,” Harry said brushing those thoughts aside. “He is leaving and you know what that means.”

Yes, he did. It meant that he would have to tame Harry. It was impossible to command the brigade, if one couldn’t control Harry Smith.

“The Duke will appoint a replacement soon enough,” he told Harry calmly.

“He might,” Harry allowed and they both knew he didn’t believe it. Wellington had left Leutenant-Colonel Barnard in temporary command of the entire division during the siege and storming of Badajoz and he liked Colborne, perhaps even as much as he did Barnard. “You’ve commanded a brigade before. I saw it.”

This Colborne had not been aware of. “Did you?”

“I passed though your position with a dispatch to General Hill. Your works almost stopped me.” It wasn’t an accusation. They’d been meant to keep out the French after all.

“It was only a temporary command and didn’t end well,” he reminded Harry calmly as if it didn’t matter.

It did, though. He’d built up a fine reputation and good relationships with the officers only to see his brigade slaughtered at Albuera. It hadn’t been his fault, but he’d still been surprised when this misfortune, rather than send him home in disgrace, had landed him the command of the 52nd regiment, the hand-picked men of his dead mentor General Moore. Nevertheless the memory of that battle remained painful.

“But while I do have it in my power, I mean to do good by you and your young wife,” he told Harry shaking off the painful thoughts. “If you’re still by my side at the end of the next battle, I’ll recommend you for promotion.”

That ought to stop Harry from making off with the brigade at any rate and Colborne didn’t plan on being easy to keep up with. He’d show the little daredevil sportsman a challenge he couldn’t resist – and he’d win. That should impress Harry enough to ensure his loyalty and that of the brigade.

Besides, Harry and Juana really could use the money a promotion to Mayor would bring. Colborne himself would never have dared to marry on a Captain’s income and he’d always been much more cautious with his money than happy-go-lucky Harry Smith.

Yes, it was an all around good plan.


	3. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sequel to my sounds like a plan submission. Colborne puts his plan into action. This time the scene is historical as well, though Harry’s autobiography didn’t say just how they came to have a race ...

The attack went much better than Harry had expected. Apparently the French had never practised shooting at enemies coming towards them uphill. Their aim was off. A lesson to keep in mind for the next time he got to drill soldiers. The 95th regiment were sharpshooters after all.

At the moment Harry had to deal with the here and now, though. He had been under fire too often before to be worried about his courage, or that he might get in over his head, but there was the additional challenge of keeping up with Colborne.

He’d known that the colonel led from the front when he’d accepted the challenge – He wouldn’t have thought it worth accepting, if he’d had reason to expect anything else. Harry didn’t waste his time and patience on the kind of officers that sent their men ahead into battle and watched from a safe distance. – but he hadn’t calculated on the difference in their background.

Harry had spent his entire career so far in the 95th regiment, he’d been drilled as a sharpshooter: take cover, aim, shoot, take cover ... Colborne had started out in a traditional infantry regiment before exchanging into the 52nd light infantry. If he’d been lucky enough to get any basic drill at all, taking cover hadn’t figured into it. He’d associated with the 95th enough to understand and appreciate the concept, but it wasn’t second nature to him.

Riding openly ahead of the equally openly attacking line of the 52nd made Harry’s instincts scream out that he was dangerously exposed, but he couldn’t back down from a challenge. He would not look like a coward, especially not in front of someone he respected as much as Colborne. He wanted the man to think well of him.

But he couldn’t stand the exposed feeling. So he raised the challenge. He urged Old Chap to go faster and with a challenging smile overtook Colborne. ‘I won’t just reach the top beside you, I’ll be there first.’

Colborne looked at him, echoed his smile and a moment later they were racing up the mountain at full gallop, the battle, the brigade and the whole war forgotten over their own friendly competition...

...until they pelted around an outcropping of rock and came to a sudden stop at the sight of an entire brigade of French soldiers marching towards them.

Oh God, how could they have been this stupid! Racing away from their men in mid-battle like a pair of mischievous boys skipping school!

Harry cast one panicked glance the way they’d come. There was a handful of panting soldiers that had somehow managed to keep up, but they were no match for 3oo not at all tired looking French. It was no use, they’d have to surrender or die.

 

to be continued (I hope)


End file.
